


Left Behind

by fionnabhair



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Drama, Friendship, Post-Hogwarts, The Quidditch Pitch: Leaving Feast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-16
Updated: 2006-06-15
Packaged: 2018-10-27 13:19:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10809825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fionnabhair/pseuds/fionnabhair
Summary: After the death of Albus Dumbledore, Ginny must face not only the true cost of being Harry's girl, but her own deepest and darkest fears.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

Ginny allowed her book to slip to the ground; usually she loved Persuasion, but today Anne’s struggles to regain her captain didn’t fill her with emotion or hope.  They grated 

The sky was overcast and there was a slight chill in the air, though not enough to force her back into the house.  Her legs crossed under her, Ginny leaned back against a tree trunk and stared into space.  Today had not been a good day.  Fleur was overwrought; and the bridesmaids’ dresses had been a disappointment, and she had made Ginny stand for nearly an hour while she altered the dress, swearing copiously in French.  Hermione was ‘too busy’ to distract her during this ordeal.  

Everyone was ‘too busy’ it seemed, and such matters as a dress were far too trivial, and eventually, Ginny ran outside, where at least she would have some peace.  The wedding was in three days.  And here she was, sitting outside, railing at a happy ending, while the twins brewed up a new batch of fireworks, and her Mum studied cake recipes and Death Eaters blew up peoples’ homes.

She shook her head, and picked at the grass.  A plane zoomed overhead, probably on its way to the nearby Air Force base, and masked the sound of three voices coming towards her.  Ginny jumped when she heard them; every time she entered a room since they arrived they abruptly stopped talking, and it surprised her that they hadn’t done so now.

She leant back, closing her eyes and enjoying the sound of their voices; she had an inkling she wouldn’t be hearing them much longer.  One of those voices recalled the heartbreak Ginny thought she’d buried so deep it was beyond tears; turns out, it wasn’t.  She dashed one tear away desperately and told herself not to be so silly. So what if Harry was around?  So what if he’s barely looked at her, or spoken to her, or touched her, and she felt as invisible as she did when she was twelve?  What did any of that matter when so many terrible things were happening?

Their conversation came to a sudden halt, and Ginny opened her eyes to see Ron staring down at her accusingly.  She wasn’t eavesdropping – only listening, and thinking back, she couldn’t actually remember any words they’ve said.  Hermione put her hand on Ron’s arm, and something passes between them, and a moment later Harry began to sit beside her.

He flung himself to the ground with all the grace of a hippo, and Ginny turned her book over, so he couldn’t see the title, though she knew it was unlikely Harry was familiar with Jane Austen.  She tried not to stare at her hands, so much easier than looking at him, and as the silence stretched, Ginny reflected that it had been more than a month since Dumbledore’s funeral.  They’d been apart longer than they were ever together.

She really shouldn’t be so silly, she reminded herself.

She looked up smiling brightly, but it died on her lips.  Harry’s lips were curved, in what she supposed some would call a smile, but she could see the lines of tension in his neck, and the oddly deadened look in his eyes.  Harry only had that expression when he looked at her.  She longed to touch his arm or his hand, or curl up and let him stroke her hair, or anything that would make him look more alive.  Only she’s not allowed.

Ginny winced, and then Harry said, “All right?”

She nods her throat suddenly tight.  She looked at her hands as he continued.  “I heard a lot of noise in there.”

“It’s the dress,” she says.  “I look like one of the Magical Brethren in it.”  Normally this comment would draw a laugh or a grin or something from Harry, but he only sighed and looked out toward the pond.  Ginny wanted to shake him, or hit him, or do something that would make him react like a normal person because the Harry she loves laughs.

They sat in silence for a long moment, and Ginny was suddenly reminded of the moment he broke up with her.

_Harry was staring at her, his eyes pinning her to her seat.  Ginny knew what was coming, and for an instant she considered getting up, running back to the Tower and hiding in her room, but this conversation had to happen.  She’d known it was coming and she’d be damned if she wouldn’t take it like a Weasley.  She thought his voice cracked as he spoke, every word a dagger in her ear.  Allowing her nails to dig into one palm she said, “It's for some stupid, noble reason, isn't it?”_  
  
Harry seemed afraid to touch her, reaching up to her chin but changing his mind half way there, and yet Ginny had never heard him use this tone of voice before.  She spent years imagining just that tone of voice, and almost as many pretending she didn’t care if he never used it; she was all too well aware of the irony that, as he dumped her, Harry was fulfilling her wish. __  
  


_If Harry thought the greatest danger was of Voldemort hurting her, he was a fool.  If he thought he wouldn’t wound her at least as deeply he was a fool… She had to tell him.  “What if I don't care?”_  
  
Harry shook his head, and moved even closer, as though bent on impressing this on her.  “I care,” he said, his voice definitely cracking over the next words, “How do you think I'd feel if this was your funeral... and it was my fault....”  
  
Ginny looked away from him, out over the lake.  She felt slightly numb, as though she’d been given a Pain Relieving Draught, and someone was prodding the affected area.  She had to say something.  

_Perhaps though, it would have been prudent not to expose herself completely, not to admit to all the foolishness and stupidity of her younger self when Harry was letting her go.  Ginny wondered if she had gone a little mad, saying these things to a boy in the process of breaking up with her._

_But Harry was smiling, and Ginny’s composure slipped, just a little.  She struggled to smile, stretched for a laugh; anything to keep back the deep well of sorrow she knew was somewhere beneath the surface, even if she couldn’t feel it at right this moment.  She told him just why she liked him, feeling her own heart pump, bare to his gaze, as she said the words.  Harry’s hand touched her cheek ever so briefly, and when Ginny looked up, he was walking away._

It was too quiet between them, and Ginny was about to tell him one of her many hilarious stories about Auntie Muriel, when he touched her hand gently, and said, “Ginny…”

Harry swallowed and managed to look at her again.  “Look… I don’t know… We’re going soon; it could be any time after the wedding, and we thought…”

Ginny knew what he was saying – she always did – and for a moment she felt as though the anger would drown her.  “You’re not going to say goodbye,” she said flatly.

He seemed surprised for half a moment, but then shook his head in acceptance.  “I thought it would easier.”

“So you’re just going to vanish in the middle of the night or something?  Not a word – not a note, nothing?”  Ginny paused, taking a breath, and trying not to sound upset.  “You’re right, it would be easier Harry.  For you.”

She didn’t know why he has to hurt her like this.  Ginny thought he cared about her – she was almost certain that was what he’d meant, and yet…  She pushed off the ground suddenly, determined to put as much space as possible between them, so she could find a quiet space to cry over Harry Potter one more time.

Unfortunately, Harry was stronger, and taller and naturally quite a bit faster than she was, and caught up to her in a matter of seconds.  Grasping her wrist he turned her around to face him, and Ginny swore to herself that she wouldn’t cry.  She will not cry in front of him; she has her pride, and she will not let Harry know he can make her cry.

“Look,” he said, “I’m sorry.  I didn’t think it’d be so hard.”

There aren’t any tears on her face, but her voice is full of them.  “Why are you doing this?”

Harry looked amazed and she cut off his response, amazed he could be so foolish as to even think such a thing.  “I get it,” she began. “You have things to do, I understand that.  But if you think I’m just going to… wait around to hear if you’re alive or dead, then you’ve got another thing coming Harry.”

He stood back, and Ginny saw that look in his eyes again, and she went on, hoping to spur him to anger, or tears, or something.  “And you’re not going to write to me, are you?  Any of you.  And if I’m really lucky I’ll find out from the _Daily Prophet_ what you’re doing.”  

At least Harry had the courage to nod; it was the only thing that kept her from storming off.  Ginny always knew that he, Ron and Hermione had a ‘special relationship’ but this left her breathless. 

Finally she managed to say in a wondering tone of voice, “I can’t believe this – it’s actually cruel Harry.”  

She had to stop to swallow a sob, “…but, fine.  You do what you have to… And come back.”  

Ginny almost put a hand to his face, but she let it fall when she saw his expression.  Harry doesn’t want her to touch him.

And then she walked away, amazed at her final words.  How she could be so willing to put up with this is beyond her.  She should hex him or kick him, or teach him in some lasting and painful way that Ginny Weasley was not to be taken for granted.

But even if she did, it wouldn’t stop him from breaking her heart – and that was what it felt like.  No matter how much she attempted to convince herself otherwise – that it was Hermione’s betrayal of their friendship, or Ron’s decision to exclude her yet again, that was killing her – it was the rejection implicit in Harry’s actions that made her curl up in her sheets at night and cry and pray.  Ron and Hermione only made her angry; Harry made her weep.

Harry was calling her, but Ginny only stopped when she saw her father coming towards her.  His face was sombre, and she stared at him, mentally running through a list of names.

“Ginny, love,” he said, “you should come inside.”

“What is it, Dad?”  He looked at Harry, and Ginny felt something tighten in her stomach.

“Perhaps I should tell you on your own?”

Ginny licked her lips, and says, “No, it’s all right.  What’s happened?”  She locked her hands together to hide their trembling.  Harry had come to stand just behind her; she felt his warmth.

“Ginny, there was an attack in Manchester.”

Her voice sounded distant as she said, “Oh God!”

“Your friend, Louise, was injured.”

“How badly? How badly Dad?”  
  


Her father put a hand out as Ginny realised he wanted to hug her, but she couldn’t understand, didn’t want to face this. “How badly?”

He shook his head, and Ginny saw tears in his eyes.  “She won’t wake up Ginny.”

Harry slipped an arm around her waist, and though his warmth was like an anchor, Ginny felt bound to say, “I’m not going to faint.”

They convinced her to go inside, and she sat at the kitchen table while her mum wept, and wrote a letter to Louise’s mother, a Muggle.  Eventually she couldn’t stand Harry watching her, and all the noise was too much, and Ginny slowly walked up to her bedroom.  Hermione was there, and she stared at Ginny as though expecting an explosion.

Ginny shrugged, and stared at a photo from her fourth year; she was holding the Quidditch Cup, and Louise had been slightly sloshed from Butterbeer.  Louise, who won’t wake up.

Suddenly a great burst of tears spilt out of her, and Hermione’s arms were wrapped around her, and Ginny was crying so hard she couldn’t breathe.  Hermione spoke soothing words, and stroked her hair, and hours later, Ginny lay in bed, all worn out and thin feeling; and as she heard their voices from Ron’s room she thought that this is what war means.


	2. A Time To Build Up

Ginny pulled her robes over her head, struggling to find the armholes.  She was rather relieved to be reaching Hogwarts.  People evidently found Harry’s absence extremely fascinating, and ever since she crossed the barrier onto Platform Nine and Three Quarters, she’d been besieged with questions.  Having to explain, again and again, that no, he wasn’t going out with her anymore, and that in fact, he left school, perhaps to get away from her (at least, that had clearly been Romilda Vane’s opinion) was more than a little wearying.

At least Luna hadn’t wanted to talk, though Ginny wasn’t sure if this was the result of laudable sensitivity, or simply absence of mind.  With Luna, you could never tell.  

As much as Ginny liked her, it had been a difficult few hours, and she hadn’t been completely able to restrain the horrible longing for Harry, or Hermione or…Louise.  Jules and Neville had shared the compartment, and Jules looked as distressed as Ginny herself.  It had been a relief to see her. 

She’d slept in the bed between Jules’ and Louise’s for the last five years, but of course, Louise was still in St Mungo’s, so there would only be four of them in the dormitory.  Ginny got on well with all her dorm-mates-–they were a ‘group’-–but at the same time, knowing the things she knew, she’d always been aware of a distance.  And now there was no Hermione to talk to about it.

Ginny waved to Hagrid quickly, ducking out of sight before he could question her about Harry like all the others.  All she wanted was to eat a speedy dinner and go to bed.  A thick, chilly fog surrounded her, coating everything with a thin layer of moisture, and serving only to worsen her mood.  Leaving her friends, Ginny jumped into a carriage occupied by a group of second-years.  They were far too in awe of her to talk, and they reached the castle in record time.

Jumping down, Ginny’s heart sank when she saw Professor McGonagall waiting at the door, her mouth thin and her arms crossed.  Nodding at her, she said, “Come with me, Miss Weasley.”

Ginny sighed, but there was nothing for it, and she followed the Headmistress to an empty classroom.  Sitting down, Ginny stared at her hands-–she had a premonition that this would be the hardest conversation of all.

McGonagall cleared her throat and said, “Well, Miss Weasley, I’m sure you know why I wish to speak with you.”

Ginny shrugged.  “I have an inkling.”

The older woman’s mouth twitched.  “Have you any idea where Mr Potter has gone?”

Ginny shook her head.  “None.”

“And if you did know, you wouldn’t tell me, would you?”

Ginny nodded.  “If…Harry wanted you to know, Professor, he would have said something.  But he didn’t tell me anything.”  She had to stop for a moment there, to control a sudden wave of anger at him, at the position she found herself in.

McGonagall sighed and said, “Very well Miss Weasley, I had hoped…”

“I’m sorry Professor.”

“Not to worry.  The Order…this is to go no further than yourself, you understand?”

Ginny nodded, and the Headmistress continued, “Well, the Order has received one or two messages-–Remus Lupin was good enough to interpret them for us.”

Ginny took a deep breath.  “So…they’re all right…they’re not...?”

The Professor eyed her sympathetically.  “All indications are good…if I should hear anything to the contrary, I will inform you.”

Ginny stood.  “Thank you, Professor.”

“There is one more thing.”

“Oh?”

Professor McGonagall held a red and gold badge out to her.  “With Mr. Potter gone, we are without a Quidditch Captain.”

A wave of revulsion swept through Ginny’s stomach-–this was Harry’s position, _Harry’s_ job, not hers.  It must have shown in her face, for her teacher added, “You are the player with most experience, and Madam Hooch mentioned that…”  

Ginny was barely listening to the words, and numbly she stretched out her hand to take the badge, trying to decide whether she should play Seeker or Chaser this year.  Her head hurt, and she wanted to run outside and kick the wall and yell at the sheer unfairness of it all, but she merely nodded at McGonagall and made her way out of the room.

Ginny had always loved Quidditch, and, if it hadn’t been for Harry, it would easily have been the best aspect of her fifth year.  She bit her lip as she remembered; they had been a great team, functioning together, working together in a way Angelina could never manage.  And then they’d won the Cup.

Harry was working them harder then ever-–Ginny hadn’t seen him this determined since the last days of the DA.  Mind you, that really wasn’t a fair comparison-–at least he was laughing these days.  In fact, ever since she’d started impersonating Ron swearing as he missed the Quaffle, Harry had been laughing a lot.  And he was around more.

_It made no sense; she’d known Harry for years, he was good friends with Ron and Hermione, so of course, he’d always been_ around _.  And yet, it was true.  Somehow Harry was far more present than he’d ever been before-–Ginny saw him all the time.  He’d pop up when she was in the library, or walk her back from Quidditch practise, and he always, always sat beside her at dinner.  Ginny would have had to be utterly foolish not to notice that this behaviour had peaked since she’d broken things off with Dean, but she couldn’t quite make the leap of faith to believe what Hermione had been insinuating-–after all, this was_ Harry _._

_After everything that had happened this year-–that horrible fight with Ron, which she still hated to think about, the coldness between her and Hermione that had lasted for so long-–Ginny wasn’t sure she had it in her to get imagine Harry could be interested.  Not after seeing her at her absolute worst._

_Anyway, she waved at Harry and mimicked him falling sharply off his broomstick at the last Quidditch match-–he looked so determined that she couldn’t resist the temptation to make him laugh.  Racing forwards to catch the Quaffle, Ginny was shocked to hear Harry yell.  Looking back, she saw a Bludger had hit him.  Again._

_This was the third time tonight, and Ginny decided it was time to call a halt.  She didn’t know why he’d become so addicted to being hit by fast-moving, heavy objects, but it was a bad habit, and she was determined to put a stop to it._

_With a minimal amount of yelling, Ginny managed to get everyone back to the changing room.  Having removed her robes, she turned to Harry and said, “Are you okay?”_

_He shrugged.  “Yeah, I’m fine.  Why wouldn’t I be?”_

_Ginny stared.  “You got hit in the ribs-– twice-–by a Bludger, and on your leg.  You must be bruised or something.”_

_Harry grinned.  “I don’t feel anything.”_

_“Well that’s because you’ve clearly become immune to pain.  How many times have you been hit in the last week?”_

_Harry looked uncomfortable, and said, “I don’t know.  A few?”_

_“Many, Harry.  Have you at least checked for bruises?”_

_“No.  I can’t see my own back, Ginny.  But, maybe…” She was astonished to see Harry blushing, ever so slightly, “you could…”_

_Ron joined them, grumbling loudly about the two goals he’d let in during practise, and Ginny was left to stare at Harry.  Had he really just suggested she see him without his shirt?  And if he had, did she have even the least problem with it?_

Of course not.  But, this was Harry; unfortunately, he was the least likely person in the world to suggest anything ‘inappropriate.’  At least, not with her.

Ginny shook her head–this was not the way to enjoy her year at Hogwarts.  However if she wanted to spend her time moping around and being generally miserable, she was certainly on the right track.  

She made her way down to the Great Hall, where she ate a quick dinner, chatted with Jules, Neville and Demelza, and glared fiercely at anyone who asked her about Harry.  She laughed at peoples’ jokes and chattered gaily with Dean as she made her way up to the portrait hole, and when she finally reached her dorm, she sank down on her bed with a deep sigh of relief.

The next morning she woke up to sun shining through her window, Jules grinning at her and Hedwig sitting on the windowsill.  Letting her in, Ginny found a package containing a blank sheet of parchment, an old mirror and a Sneakoscope.  

Perplexed, she opened the letter.  For one glorious moment, she thought it was from Harry, before she recognized Hermione’s handwriting.  Her heart sank further as she read the brief, obviously hurriedly written, note.

_Dear Ginny_ ,

_I know this comes as a bit of a surprise, but things have been getting a bit busy lately, and Harry says it’s too dangerous to send owls any more, and that we should send Hedwig to you, to avoid temptation.  Don’t worry though – we’re all fine. **Really**_

_You can ask Fred and George about the Map-–it may come in handy.  For now, ‘I solemnly swear I am up to no good’ and ‘Mischief managed’ are two phrases you should remember.  I don’t know if it’ll come in useful, but you should keep it and the mirror on you at all times if possible._

_Ron thought you should have a Sneakoscope, given, well…you know-–and he says it’s a belated birthday present.  I’m really sorry I can’t write more, but I’ve got about two seconds to write this in.  We all miss you._

_Love, Hermione_

_P.S. Please burn this once you’ve read it through._

Suddenly, it felt like it would require immense effort to get through the day.


End file.
